Don't Let Go
by Tex99
Summary: There were only two planets close enough to give Wash any kind of fighting chance. One had been uninhabited for at least 20 years, a desolate wasteland. The other was Chorus. Missing moment after S15E17. Spoilers for episode 17, 18 and 21. Season 15 spoilers.
1. Chapter 1

**_A missing moment after Season 15 Episode 17._**

 **Don't Let Go**

The moment Locus had Agent Washington carefully placed on the floor of his ship the door began to close, leaving the Reds and Blues outside.

"Aranacia, take off." He made sure Wash was in a comfortable position and waited as the ship rose into the air, bracing against the sudden forward movement. The ship cleared the atmosphere and glided into space.

"Aranacia, search for nearby occupied planets, preferably with human colonization and large cities."

The ship's navigation console lit up and began to blink as it searched and compiled results, and Locus used the time to run a cursory check on Wash's condition. Breathing present, no gurgling detected. Pulse elevated and somewhat thready, not bad. But he was unconscious, which wasn't a great sign. Locus ran a finger across both the entrance and exit wound, checking for hemorrhage. Both were bleeding sluggishly. That might buy them some time, however minuscule.

Since Wash didn't seem to be in huge distress at the moment, Locus moved to the navigation console and searched for the closest planet with enough civilization to warrant a good hospital. Aranacia's navigation panel blinked quietly, awaiting the next command. She was capable of speaking, but he had set her on mute long ago. He relished the silence, the solitude. But now after Grif's chatter and the constant bickering babble of the Reds and Blues, it seemed a little too silent. Locus would be glad to hear Wash speak at the moment, even if it was the deluded confusion he'd been exhibiting. He ran through the results and was quickly irritated at the lack of real possibilities.

There were only two planets close enough to give Wash any kind of fighting chance. One had been uninhabited for at least 20 years, a desolate wasteland.

The other was Chorus.

"Hmmm," the sound of his own voice almost startled Locus. He never mused aloud. "Aranacia, unmute."

"Unmuted, sir." Her smooth feminine voice issued from the console speakers, a familiar and foreign sound at the same time. The ship had settings for a male voice, but Locus refused to have a male continually talking in his ear all the time. It reminded him too much of someone else.

"Is the planet Chorus the only viable option for a hospital?" He glanced back at Wash who was unnaturally still, checking for breathing.

"Yes, the nearest occupied planet in the vicinity would take three times longer to reach."

Locus nodded. "Set course for Chorus, and go as fast as possible." He hadn't been back to Chorus since the day Felix died when he'd activated the communication tower and left the Reds and Blues behind. It was certain that he was a wanted criminal there. But it was the only option, and his advantage was that they had never seen his ship. He could fly in undetected and go invisible, deposit Wash at the hospital and get him some help. They would never know he was there.

"Course set for the planet Chorus, sir. Are you sure this is wise?"

Locus gritted his teeth in annoyance. Why did A.I. programs have to have so many human personality traits? The last thing he needed was an artificial intelligence nanny along for the ride. He should have left her on mute. Were a ship's A.I. designed to take the place of human contact? Stave off the insanity that came with being alone too long? His gaze drifted to Grif's volleyballs, still lined up across the console. They perched there waiting for him to include them, to address them. He looked away.

"We don't have a choice. Agent Washington won't make it very long in his condition. We don't have time to go anywhere else." They were already speeding through the galaxy, but he could feel the crucial minutes ticking down.

"If you are looking for a hospital for Agent Washington, you may not need one much longer."

Locus spun to look at the agent in question and then back at the console. "Why? Is his condition improving?"

"No, if his pulse continues to slow at the rate it has since he came aboard he will be asystole in less than five minutes."

"What?! Why didn't you say something?" Locus spun on the spot and dropped to his knees next to Wash, who hadn't moved since he'd been brought on board.

"I did just say something. My alert light has been blinking since you brought him on board, but I couldn't speak until you unmuted me." The level of attitude in her computer generated voice should not have been possible, but somehow she managed it.

Locus was checking Wash's pulse already. He could barely detect it. "What's wrong with him, he wasn't hemorrhaging—" Locus broke off as he realized a pool of blood was slowly creeping out from underneath Wash's torso, finally large enough to be noticeable. Especially since it was encroaching on his position kneeling next to Wash. "No…"

He put a finger in the hole of Wash's black undersuit created by the bullet and tugged. "Dammit!"

The entry was bigger than he'd realized, coming in at an angle. The upper part of the wound lay perfectly disguised under the torn pieces of suit, partially hidden. The bullet must have nicked the jugular just barely because once Locus pulled back the suit that had been providing some minimal pressure, blood gushed from the wound and flowed over Wash's neck. Naturally succumbing to the ship's artificial gravity, it had traveled down the back of his neck and begun to pool under his body, disguising the true nature of his blood loss until it was much more critical. There was probably more inside his armor.

Locus swore as he tried to rip the Kevlar further to access the wound, finally pulling his knife to cut it open. The wound was still gushing, adding to the already considerable volume on the floor. Wash was in serious danger of bleeding out.

"Aranacia, get to Chorus now! Ignore all safety standards and get there in the least amount of time." He dropped the knife and pressed on the wound, trying to get a grip on the blood vessel that was bleeding the worst so he could pinch it shut. The ship's floor rumbled underneath them as it accelerated. Locus gritted his teeth, clenching his jaw together as if it could somehow lessen Wash's blood loss. How long ago had it been since he had attacked Wash at the temple of the Purge, trying to push his knife into him and wishing he would just die? Wash had cut his own hand and marked him with the same blood that was flowing over his fingers. It seemed like a lifetime ago, and now for some bizarre reason it felt like Wash dying was tangled up in Locus' own fate, each somehow affecting the other. If Wash died here, it would simply confirm that Locus himself was lost, unable to be saved, irredeemable, and destined to die alone. At least Wash would be mourned by his team. Locus doubted Aranacia would notice much.

The volleyball Reds and Blues rumbled in their respective places, mute witnesses to Wash's predicament as they vibrated under the straining engines of the ship. Locus couldn't bring himself to look at them, just focused on finding the source of hemorrhage. His gauntlets were already slick with blood. It gleamed wet and red on his fingers, on his hands. Locus ignored it and kept working.

As he finally located then gripped the fleshy part of Wash's neck outside the pulsing blood vessel and tried to stem its flow, the ship began to slow.

"Aranacia, why are we slowing down? We don't have time!" He used the other hand to clamp down on Wash's neck below the wound, stemming the flow even further. But it was only a temporary fix and he knew it.

"We have arrived at Chorus, sir." The ship continued to slow. "We are entering the outer atmosphere and must slow our approach."

"No, we can't waste any more time! Increase speed, get us to the nearest hospital roof and go as fast you can go without hitting anything." Locus was still on his knees, fingers pinched tight, watching Wash's chest move less and less.

"Understood, sir." The ship sped up again, but not as fast as before. Locus leaned down to stare into Wash's helmet visor.

"Agent Washington, can you hear me? You have to fight. It's not your time yet. Stay here."

Locus ignored the stray thought that whispered across his mind. That he had led many to their time, their death. And it hadn't bothered him at all. But now it did. This one could not die. Not after everything he had endured. Wash's abnormally still body mingled in his mind with haunting images of the dead men, women, and children Locus had found in the colony. Still and stiff, robbed and abandoned. Locus had felt surrounded by death for years. But now it bothered him. No, Agent Washington needed to live.

"Aranacia, how much longer?"

"Four minutes to landing on the roof of the General Doyle General Hospital, sir. We are being hailed by local authorities as an uncleared ship in restricted airspace. Would you like to reply?"

"No, ignore all transmissions." Locus was stuck where he was, unable to go to the console, unwilling to release his grip on Wash and risk him bleeding out. Besides, if they ignored all hails and landed it would certainly bring a welcoming party. And that was exactly what Wash needed.

"Ship velocity is too fast for a proper landing, sir. I recommend decreasing speed."

"Hit the roof as fast as you dare and slide to a stop."

There was a moment of silence before she responded. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." Locus hoped she was as good as he thought she was, but if so it would shave at least two minutes off their time and that was worth the gamble. Even now blood was ebbing through the wound despite his best efforts.

The ship blew over the top of the city, rapidly descending as it did. Locus did his best to keep himself and Wash in one place, but it was hard considering he still couldn't use his hands. He ended up bracing himself with one leg, pushing against the wall to keep himself in place.

Aranacia guided the ship to the hospital and attempted to land at high speed. The impact slammed the ship into the landing pad on the roof, hard enough to shake the upper floors. It slid wildly before coming to a complete stop. Volleyballs became airborne, pelting both men with their round bodies and carefully crafted faces before rolling in different directions. Wash's inert body slid into the console, smearing the blood puddle as he went. Locus allowed himself to slide with him but he still lost his grip on Wash for a moment and immediately struggled to find it again.

"We have landed sir," Aranacia informed him unnecessarily.

"Thank you," Locus managed, still breathing hard. "Are there soldiers approaching?"

"Yes, quite a few. Some medical staff has been called as well. They are still a few floors down."

The sound of a voice outside the ship could be heard. "Attention spacecraft! You are an uncleared ship and have crash landed in restricted airspace! Come out now with your hands in the air!"

Locus stayed kneeling next to Wash, aware that things had taken a different turn than he'd planned. He didn't have time to hand Wash over to medical staff in a way that let him go invisible. If he released pressure on Wash's neck he would quickly bleed out. Going invisible until someone boarded to help Wash was also out, considering that he was reasonably sure that a surprise appearance would get him shot even if they didn't realize who he was. He'd just have to take his chances.

"Aranacia, open the door."

"Sir…are you sure?"

Locus put more pressure on Wash's neck. Despite his best efforts, Wash's wound wanted to bleed. The pressure was intense, constantly pushing against his fingers, seeking an exit. The fluid nature of the blood itself made it difficult to restrain. Definitely nicked a major blood vessel. Locus applied pressure with both hands.

"Open the door."

"Yes, sir." The boarding ramp descended, revealing several armed soldiers tense and ready. The one in charge, a burly lieutenant, stepped in front of the others.

"Come out with your hands up! We won't ask again!" They were young and eager, a deadly combination in soldiers. Locus sighed. Why couldn't things ever be easy?

"I can't," he called back to them, still somewhat hidden by the console. "Come aboard, we need help." He waited as four cautiously walked up the ramp, ready for a trap to be sprung or a sudden attack. When they finally cleared the console enough to see what lay behind it Locus could easily read their surprise even with their helmets on.

"What the hell is this?" the leader blurted, taking in Wash's body and the blood smeared volleyballs that lay scattered around him.

Locus cut him off. "There's no time. This man needs immediate medical attention. Gunshot through the neck, through and through, he's bleeding out—"

"Holy crap!" squeaked the private on the right. "Is that…Locus?"

Immediately all four guns were raised and ready to fire. Locus didn't move. He kept his hands clamped on Wash's neck and his eyes on the soldiers. "That doesn't matter right now—"

"No, that's not him," the private on the left put in. "Locus has an 'X' on his helmet."

Locus gritted his teeth. "Listen to me. Agent—"

"Ohmygod! That's his voice! It is Locus!" Right private raised his gun even higher in his anxiety, completely off his target and almost pointed at the roof. Locus couldn't hold back the thought that it would be so easy to take all four out (even in a nonlethal way but right now lethal was sooo tempting) and exit the ship. But he couldn't risk taking the pressure off Wash's neck.

The other three had taken the private's confirmation as truth and now stood pointing their weapons at him, ready for anything. The leader took charge. "Stand up and put your hands on your head! Do it now! Do it now!"

Although the lieutenant's voice was rising with each syllable he uttered, Locus kept his deliberately calm. "I can't. Agent Washington is seriously—"

"Ohmygod! That's Agent Washington!" The private on the left exclaimed. There was a collective gasp as all four soldiers realized it and took in the blood smearing the floor, all over Locus' hands, and the knife he had abandoned after cutting open Wash's Kevlar suit. "You monster! What did you do to him?"

Locus could feel the situation quickly spiraling out of control and did his best to contain it. "I didn't do anything; I'm trying to help—"

"Stand up!" bellowed the lieutenant, shoving the barrel of his gun closer to Locus' visor. "Stand up! Get away from him!"

"I already told you, I can't. We need medical professionals right now, there's no time to waste—"

"Get up now or we shoot!"

"I can't!" Locus repeated for a third time, his voice rising in spite of himself. Couldn't they see that Wash was dying? "I'm holding pressure on the wound! He's bleeding out!"

"Because of you, you sick bastard. We should just shoot you now and put you out of your sick misery," the lieutenant spat at him.

Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, left private darted forward, grabbed Wash's arm and attempted to pull him to safety. Wash had barely moved an inch before Locus leaned forward right into the private's visor.

"Don't. Touch him," Locus breathed in his deepest, most terrifying growl. It was all he had since his hands were occupied. But it worked. The sound combined with the sight of him on his knees, hands covered in blood and still on Wash's neck was enough to make the private quickly lose his courage and retreat. Unfortunately, it also heightened the tension on the ship and the lieutenant's trigger finger was beginning to twitch.

"Is it a trick? It's a trick!" The last remaining soldier had finally spoken up. "You've planted a bomb on the body!"

"If I were trying to bomb you, why would I still be here?" Locus barked impatiently, inadvertently pulled into the discussion simply because it was so damn stupid. The desolate wasteland planet was looking better and better.

The lieutenant was staring at him. "I don't know…I've heard the stories about you, Locus. Booby trapping bodies with grenades, leading soldiers into a trap. This is classic Locus!" His voice was rising again, and with it went the tension. Locus knew it was just a matter of time before someone snapped.

Locus took a deep breath. "I…don't…do that…anymore."

"Why would we believe you?" Locus didn't answer. "Okay, fine." The lieutenant raised his gun and pointed it at Locus' visor. "Get up now so we can arrest you, or we shoot you right here."

"Agent Washington needs help! Look at him!" Locus could hear his own raised voice, knew he was adding gasoline to an already raging fire but he couldn't seem to hold himself in. Wasn't there just one intelligent person on this planet? "Listen to me!" His own anxiety was spiraling out of control as he realized he was on his knees surrounded by the enemy, a position that he tried never to be in. They had the higher position, they were badgering him, yelling at him, and he was afraid…just like the alien.

"Get up or we shoot! Get up right now or we shoot! You have two seconds! Are you going to let Agent Washington go?"

Locus stared up the barrel of the lieutenant's gun. It should be so easy. Let go of Wash and stand up. But Wash would bleed out. The volleyball Reds and Blues were lying around them, tipped at all angles. Staring at him, awaiting his response. He thought about Carolina's scream when Wash went down, Tucker's helpless agony. He had never seen Caboose like that before, or even Sarge for that matter. Agent Washington was more than a suit of armor and a gun. And so was he. More than a merc. More than a monster. He had left all that behind and was clinging to his new beginning with everything he had. He couldn't let go now. It occurred to him it was probably poetic that he would die like this, like the alien had. And on a hospital that served as a memorial for Doyle. Felix would laugh at the cosmic irony.

Grif was right. Doing the right thing sucked.

He stared at the lieutenant, tightened his grip on Wash's wound, and didn't move.

"Fine. Have it your way." The lieutenant's finger tightened on the trigger.

"What's going on in here?"

A high pitched feminine voice shattered the tension as a woman in purple and white armor walked up the ramp. Everyone but the lieutenant and the still unresponsive Wash looked at her as she came in. Locus' head snapped up immediately. He had never had a great love for Dr. Emily Grey, but he had always given her more caution and respect than others in the Federal Army. She was just off center enough to make her very dangerous, and that he understood.

Dr. Grey surveyed the scene. "Does someone need medical attention or not?" Her gaze fell on the blood puddle on the floor and blood smeared volleyballs. "Oh my, it's a literal blood bath in here! Don't see that every day!"

"Dr. Grey, we have this covered. Step off the ship so we can put this monster down. Then you can do whatever you want with him." The lieutenant's tone was clearly dismissive.

But Dr. Grey was already staring at Wash. "Agent Washington?"

Locus jumped in immediately. "Dr. Grey, he needs immediate medical attention. Please."

Dr. Grey went still. "Locus."

There was a moment where everyone was still, but Dr. Grey's mind never was. Her eyes flitted back and forth, taking in Wash's blood, Locus' hands pressed to his neck, the knife with its clean blade, only the tip bloodied and discarded out of reach.

"Yes, it's Locus and he's trying to booby trap us! Let us shoot him and you can have Agent Washington too, whatever you want, just get off the ship, Dr. Grey!"

The lieutenant had finally had enough, but so had Dr. Grey. She took one step toward the man and punched him in the throat with a sharp, powerful blow. He gagged, reeling backward, and Dr. Grey stared down his remaining comrades who were all gaping at her, shock written all over their visors, their guns lax in their hands.

"Agent Washington needs help! Pick him up and let's go!"

"But ma'am," a somewhat brave right private gibbered, "it's Locus!"

"Don't make me punch you too Private!" Her strident tone suddenly flipped to incredibly cheery. "Or maybe I could use another subject to experiment on…"

That did it. After a perfectly performed trio chorus of "no, no, please", the three remaining soldiers holstered their weapons and moved forward to pick up Wash. Locus prepared to move to his feet and go with them. As they lifted Wash from the floor, blood dripping off his back into the puddle beneath him, Dr. Grey focused her gaze on Locus.

"What's the status?"

"Single bullet, through and through. It nicked something vital, I'm holding pressure but he lost a lot of blood—"

Dr. Grey was nodding as he spoke, taking in every syllable. She turned on the lieutenant who was leaning against the wall trying to breathe. "Don't just stand there, get a gurney!"

As he hurried down the ramp, still hunched over, she turned back to Wash and Locus. "Go on," she chirped.

"Pulse was weak and thready the last time I was able to feel it, respirations are decreasing."

Dr. Grey supervised Wash's transfer onto a gurney and began to run next to it, keeping up as the soldiers rushed across the roof. Locus did the same, still holding pressure. They quickly entered the hospital doors and left a group of bewildered soldiers and medical staff staring at Aranacia.

"Don't worry Locus," Dr. Grey reassured him as they rushed down a hallway. "Agent Washington has been through a lot and he always pulls through." Dr. Grey's voice was chipper and happy as always, but Locus had dealt with her long enough to realize she was worried. He understood perfectly.

"But before he was in reasonably good health. This time he was dehydrated, malnourished and weak before he was shot. Not making sense, hallucinating…"

"What? That's not his usual psychological state! What happened?" They were entering a large medical suite with every piece of medical equipment imaginable. It was clearly Dr. Grey's operating room. Locus tried not to think about any experiments she might have done there.

"He and Agent Carolina were trapped in their suits, frozen for days. It did a number on both of them."

Dr. Grey stopped suddenly, realizing that there was only one patient present. "Is Carolina…is she…"

"She was managing when I left her, and the simulation— Reds and Blues were all okay. For the moment."

"Oh! Good!" Dr. Grey heaved a relieved sigh and went to work, barking orders at nearby medical staff. One carefully sidled up next to Locus and it was clear he was supposed to replace him in holding pressure but he was too scared to actually do it. Locus exhaled and forced himself to let the other man move into position, showing him where to press. He stood back and found himself suddenly at a loss as staff surrounded Agent Washington. Dr. Grey approached him one more time.

"Locus, I'm sorry but I think you're going to have to go with these men and talk to President Kimball. She'll want to know what's happening with the Reds and Blues. I'll take care of Agent Washington."

Locus stared at her a moment, then looked behind him. The three soldiers minus the lieutenant were waiting for him, guns drawn. One had a set of restraints dangling from his fingers. Locus sighed.

"Thank you."

Dr. Grey cocked her head to one side, clearly confused. "For what? Helping Agent Washington? I am a doctor, after all."

"No, for not asking me if I was the one who shot him. Thank you."

"Oh." For the first time since he had known her Dr. Grey seemed to be at a loss for words. "Well, it wouldn't make sense for you to hurt him and then bring him here for us to save him, now would it?"

There was a slightly awkward silence as both realized that was exactly what he had done the first time he brought Agent Washington her way. She cleared her throat and continued. "And besides, the Reds and Blues told me about what you did that day." She was smiling behind her helmet, she had to be. She always was. "And I am definitely going to need psychoanalysis on you when I'm done here, mister! Your sudden change and ability to stick to it are fascinating!"

Locus held in a smile. "Please fix him."

"I will." Dr. Grey disappeared behind the swinging doors.

Locus turned to the soldiers. Left private gingerly approached, restraints trembling in his hands. Locus took them from him and did it himself. He was reasonably sure left private might wet himself before he got them fastened. He grimaced at the blood stains he left all over them. Great.

Locus faced them, restrained and still very intimidating. "Where to, boys?"

Right private pointed a nervous finger in the direction behind him, so he turned around and led the way.

* * *

 ** _Just a note, this is not intended to be shippy in any way despite the title. Locus has already identified himself with Wash as a soldier and it makes sense to me that he would continue to as he works toward changing himself and his ways. Basically, he thinks if Wash can redeem himself, maybe Locus can too. I'm not interested in debate about whether Locus is redeemable after his attempt to decimate a planet's population, only in following the canon that has been established. Locus is working to change himself and has sworn off killing. I just liked the idea of this character moment fitting into what is already there._ **

**_Thank you for reading._**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Always Hard**

Locus sat in a hospital detainment room clearly used for mentally ill patients and studied the padded walls.

Appropriate.

The restraints were still in place, his weapons confiscated. Wash's blood was dried on his gauntlets. It had been hours since he had walked in. But he still wasn't worried. Felix would definitely call him crazy. Locus was certain that he could break out if he wanted to, but he was more curious to see how things were going to progress before he acted.

No one had come to stare at him through the door to his padded cell. Not one angry soldier came to throw epithets and glares his way or threaten his life. No awestruck young staff staring at the legendary Locus captured. None. That could only lead him to believe that his presence was being kept quiet by someone with quite a bit of authority.

Like a president.

Kimball would happily announce to the planet her plans to put him on trial and eventually execute him if that were her plan. She would use it to lift the morale of the planet, no doubt. But she didn't seem to be doing that. So when the thoroughly cowed lieutenant from the ship arrived and unlocked his makeshift cell, Locus didn't immediately go on the offensive. He did tense for action though, just in case.

The lieutenant cautiously approached him, gun only partly raised. "Someone—," he cleared his throat before he could speak well enough to finish, and Locus felt the corner of his mouth turn up. _Nice one, Dr. Grey._ "Someone wants to see you. Don't move."

He dropped a teleportation grenade on the floor between them, and Locus felt the familiar nausea along with the pull to another location.

They emerged in a high office with a view of the city through its glass walls. But "office" was a generous term. It had a long glass topped table and many stacks of equipment lining the floor and shelves, along with a small console off to one side. In truth, the only thing that made it an office at all was the woman watching him from behind the table. President Kimball. This was clearly her headquarters and just as practical as she was. Paperwork was not her focus, obviously.

Locus held himself still, though not at ease. There was a small pause as she sized him up and he quickly surveyed the room, recognizing left, right and middle privates at separate locations around the room (but all in close proximity to Kimball) and his weapons laid out on a far table. Not surprisingly, all of them had their weapons trained on him. Once he had sized up the location he returned Kimball's stare evenly and waited for her to speak first.

What she said surprised not only him but everyone else as well.

"Leave us alone," she told the privates. They hesitated briefly before reluctantly moving toward the door.

The lieutenant didn't move. Locus had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Predictable. "Ma'am, with all due respect—"

"Show me that respect and leave us alone, Lieutenant. That is an order," Kimball's voice sharpened considerably and removed any hesitation on the lieutenant's part. He moved quickly to the door and left.

Kimball focused squarely on Locus, who still hadn't moved. Her desire to be alone with him showed that she might be willing to hear him out, but her grip on her weapon told him she still didn't fully trust him. Not that he'd expected it. "What's going on with the Reds and Blues?"

Locus cut in with a question of his own. "How is Washington?"

Kimball paused briefly, considering, before she allowed the diversion. "He's in recovery and stable. He's lost a lot of blood but there are donors lining up. Once they heard who was in need we couldn't keep the soldiers away."

Locus nodded to himself. "The Reds and Blues are up against other simulation soldiers like them, we call them the Blues and Reds. I heard they've caused you a bit of trouble as well. They have some plan involving a large machine. The Reds and Blues were planning to go after them."

"How did you find the Reds and Blues in the first place?"

"I was tracking the Blues and Reds and happened to intercept the robot Lopez's head. They'd launched it into space as an attempt to summon help. He informed me that the Reds and Blues were in trouble. I decided to help." Locus realized how ludicrous his reply sounded when compared to Kimball's past experiences with him, but it was the truth.

She processed his words silently. "Why were you tracking the Blues and Reds?"

"They stole a power source from a colony and in doing so killed everyone in it."

Kimball's head came up sharply. "I heard about that. Those were the same red and blue soldiers who've caused us so much trouble? The reason the UNSC is one step away from attacking Chorus?"

"Yes."

"And now the Reds and Blues are trying to stop them?"

"Yes."

She stared at him a moment. "Could you…find them again? Do you know where they are?"

Locus knew what she was really asking. She wanted him to go help them, now that Wash was taken care of. Perhaps she trusted him more than he'd thought.

"Unfortunately not. They'll have gone after their counterparts, to stop them. I don't know where. I was going to slip a tracker on Grif as a precaution before the shooting started, but he was so hyper alert I never got the chance."

That made her stare at him. "Grif hyper? Alert?"

"It's a long story…" His long-suffering tone convinced her it was not something she needed to hear, but it was definitely in keeping with their antics.

"How—how were they?" Her question should have seemed strange, but Locus knew what she was really asking.

"They were all alive when I left with Washington. Arguing, impulsive. Idiots. Same as always."

Kimball looked at the table between them for a moment, and Locus was sure she was smiling behind her visor. "I bet." Her head came back up as a new thought struck. "Did they say anything about…Church?"

"Tucker mentioned something about their enemies lying to them about him, nothing else."

Kimball looked away. "So it was a trap. Dammit." Locus didn't reply. She looked like she needed a moment. Finally, she looked back at him. "You have no idea where they are?"

"None."

He hadn't meant his answer to be so abrupt. It hung in the air between them, and Locus realized she felt helpless. He was feeling the same. It didn't feel good, wanting to jump into a fight but with no possibility of finding it. Waiting for word of the battle's end and resulting casualties was something no soldier liked. Not when the squad fighting the battle felt like your squad. That was always the hardest part.

He opened his mouth without any idea of what he planned to say. "They seem to be a magnet for trouble, but somehow they always scrape through. They'll reach out to you when it's over." He could not believe the words coming out of his mouth. Was he trying to…reassure Vanessa Kimball?

She must have felt awkward as well because she suddenly addressed the console to his left.

"Santa?"

The alien A.I. appeared immediately. Later, Locus was proud of the fact that he didn't jump into the air in his surprise, but there was still an involuntary twitch he couldn't conceal. Kimball ignored him and addressed the new arrival.

"Is he telling the truth?"

"Odd as it sounds, yes he is." Santa was appraising Locus closely, as if he had found an entirely new person in Locus' place. Locus wasn't sure he believed that, but it felt good nonetheless. He returned Santa's gaze, reflecting on the last day they had met.

"Locus," Kimball drew his attention back to her. She took a breath. "Thank you, for saving Wash. For bringing him to us. And I know your actions helped us get our message out at the end of the war with Charon."

Locus nodded, waiting for the other shoe to drop. She clearly had one. Santa observed, silent and watchful.

"We owe you a debt" Kimball continued, "and I want to repay it. But you're a wanted criminal here. Even if I thought it appropriate, and I'm not saying I do, I couldn't possibly pardon you. I can't let the public know you're here without inciting a riot. And considering our tenuous position with the UNSC the last thing I need is for Chorus to be found harboring a war criminal. There's no place for you here."

"I know." He didn't mention that he hadn't planned on staying; just let the consequences of his past fall as they would. Of course he wouldn't be welcome on Chorus. His current choices didn't erase his past ones.

Kimball studied the table closely. "If you were to be suddenly and accidentally left unsupervised, what would you do?"

Locus didn't need Santa's presence to ensure he would tell the truth. "I'd camouflage, take my weapons, make my way back to my ship and take off. As quickly as possible."

Kimball was still studying the table. "You wouldn't harm anyone?"

"I would not. I see no need for violence."

She nodded to herself, deep in thought. Locus couldn't contain his own thoughts on the possibility she was proposing. "Don't people already know I'm here? What if word gets back to the UNSC?"

"Only a few soldiers know who actually arrived on that ship. It's containable."

"How are you going to explain Agent Washington's sudden appearance?"

"My official response would be…I have no idea."

Kimball's helmet tilted to one side, showing her amusement at her newfound politician's skills. Locus felt the corner of his mouth turn up in a return smile. He had no love for politicians and their manipulations, but Kimball was not one of those. Chorus was in safe hands. As long as the UNSC didn't attack.

"Is there…anything I can do to help facilitate peace talks with the UNSC?"

She turned on him in surprise, her shock and distaste apparent. "Are you suggesting you'd assassinate someone to help Chorus?"

"I don't do that anymore. I was just offering help if it was needed." His stiff tone indicated he was somewhat offended despite his attempts to mask it.

Kimball tipped her head in apology. "Oh. Good. Thank you for your offer. I'm hoping to get this done right, through official channels. Maybe next time. But no assassinating, obviously."

"Obviously."

There was a strange moment of shared amusement. Santa looked between them.

"Locus is willing to shoot kneecaps if you desire it, Kimball."

Kimball smothered a laugh. "I see. Thank you, Santa. And you too, Locus. Can't believe I'm actually saying that…"

Locus nodded in return. "Thank you…President."

* * *

It took some time to get back to the hospital after he left Kimball's office, considering he was on foot and using his camo meant he had to avoid bumping into others. That was a trickier thing in a city full of soldiers and a hospital crawling with staff. By the time he made his way into the Recovery wing, intent on peeking in at Washington before he left, at least an hour had passed.

He rounded a corner, looking in through glass windows for a glimpse of Wash's armor and almost bumped into left, right and middle privates, all lined up in order, standing in front of a recovery room. They were clearly being lectured. Or terrorized.

"…and that's when he finally decided he would talk to the Freelancers, after I put him back together of course!" Dr. Grey's cheery voice was a stark contrast to the fact that the privates were literally shaking in their armor, trembling so badly they were clanking together as they pulled closer to each other for reassurance. Dr. Grey took no notice of their state and leaned in closer. "So remember, just forget about who else was on that ship, okay? Doctor's orders!"

"Y-y-yes ma'am!" all three replied as fast as they could utter and retreated as fast as their quaking limbs could carry them. Dr. Grey turned away from them to look into a room, humming to herself. Locus slid into place next to her, still invisible, and studied Washington's still form. At least he was breathing, Locus could see that from feet away.

"Well done, Doctor. I doubt they'll ever share this incident with anyone."

He had expected her to jump or shriek in surprise and hoped any passersby would chalk it up to her already questionable sanity, but she never did do the expected. She didn't move at all, didn't twitch in surprise, didn't even emit any kind of startled noise. She simply lowered her voice to reply.

"Thank you. President Kimball's orders. They'll never breathe a word, or they'll never breathe!" she laughed.

Locus honestly couldn't decide whether she was serious or not and decided not to find out. "What about the lieutenant?"

"He'll go along or find himself stationed in a remote location, far from civilization."

"I see." Locus tried to feel bad for the hapless soldier but couldn't quite manage it considering his zeal had nearly got Locus and Wash killed.

Both stared through the window at Wash for a silent moment.

"Is he going to make it?" Kimball had already told him yes, but Locus felt the need to ask again.

"He'll be fine. He just needs a little blood, some hydration, and some food."

"Will he be able to speak?" He didn't know why, but the thought of Washington unable to talk bothered him.

"Yes. He was very lucky. The bullet nicked his jugular but missed his vocal chords. He should make a full recovery."

"Good." There was a small pause. Even Locus was surprised to hear his next words.

"I didn't take the shot."

"What?"

"We were in a firefight, pinned down. I could've taken out the gunner but it would have been through his visor, a kill shot. I didn't take it. I moved to get a different angle and that was when Washington stumbled out into fire. I should have taken the shot."

Dr. Grey stared straight forward, giving no indication that she had heard any of his words. There was a moment of silence. "As a doctor, my first duty is to preserve life. Sometimes I can, sometimes I can't. But I'm not going to start killing patients just because other ones die." She laughed. "I only experiment on dead bodies."

Locus turned his invisible head to look at her. Slowly. Her words should have done nothing but prove her unstable mindset, yet somehow Locus found comfort in them. His hesitation had ended with a bullet in Agent Washington, but his actions after had saved his life. There had to be some kind of peace in that. And he hadn't killed anyone. There was definitely peace in that. For the first time, he wondered if Dr. Grey's permanently optimistic mindset was her way of coping with all the death she couldn't stop. It was almost the inverse of his past, but it still felt familiar somehow.

"I guess you're right. I should be going now, but I had a request for you. If anyone can help me, it's you."

She half glanced his way in surprise, even though she couldn't see him. "Really? What do you need?"

He hesitated. "Do you have something that gets out blood?"

A few minutes later Dr. Grey had discreetly handed Locus a small container of what she insisted was the best blood remover in the galaxy. Locus noted a few people walk past and marveled at their lack of surprise that Dr. Grey was seemingly having a nice discussion with herself. Locus checked Agent Washington one last time and prepared to leave.

"So, I guess there's no time for psychoanalysis then?" Dr. Grey was still staring straight ahead, but the tone of her voice told him she was only partly teasing him. His lips twitched.

"Maybe next time." He left soundlessly.

Dr. Grey continued to study Wash. "Maybe next time."

* * *

 _ **Small epilogue to follow!** _


	3. Chapter 3

**Spoilers for finale episode of season 15! Read at your own risk. S15/E21 spoilers!**

 **Epilogue: But Sometimes, It's Worth It**

Four lieutenants hovered over Agent Washington, muttering in hushed excited voices.

"Do you think he'll be glad to see us?" Jensen whispered, almost dropping her weapon in her excitement.

"I'm thinking he'll be glad to be alive," Smith replied.

"How many guys do you think he took out before he got shot? Like, five? Ten? Had to be twenty of them to take down a Freelancer!"

"Keep your voice down, Palomo, Dr. Grey said no loud voices! If you get me kicked out I swear I'm going to kick your—"

Bitters' tirade came to an abrupt stop as Wash groaned and then groaned at the pain the first one had inflicted, his head moving weakly back and forth. He opened bleary eyes, trying to figure out where he was and why the ceiling was painted with visors of old comrades, pork chops, and pretty rainbows. He caught sight of Big Bird in the corner, leaning against the wall with his legs crossed and watching him attentively. _Oh, thank god. Big B made it through the battle…_

"Agent Washington! How are you feeling?" Jensen shifted closer and bumped the hospital bed, prompting another set of pained groans. Wash licked his dry cracked lips, wondering why his neck felt like it was inside out and his mouth filled with dry sand.

"Jensen, is that you?"

"Yes, it's Katie and Bitters and Smith and Palomo! You're safe, don't worry!"

"Need to tell you something…urgent…" There was something on his mind. It was huge. Forget the pain, it needed to be said. Big Bird leaned forward, his beak opened in suspense.

Palomo gasped. "What? What is it? Will it help save your friends? Tell us!"

"Shhh!" Bitters elbowed Palomo.

"Tell them..." Wash was already mumbling. He was almost too soft to hear. The lieutenants leaned closer, each holding their breath.

"…is like…'urricane…"

"A hurricane! Is there a hurricane?"

"Shut up Palomo!"

They all listened closely again.

"… here in Duckburg…"

"What?" Even Bitters couldn't stay quiet at that.

"…-cars, lasers, aeroplanes…" and then, crystal clear "it's a duck-blur!"

All four stood straight up and stared at each other. Wash kept singing.

Smith was already deep in thought. "Is it code? What do you think it means?"

Jensen was looking down at Wash again. "Do you think he lost his mind?" she sounded close to tears.

Bitters gave a disgusted sigh. "Urgent. Right."

But Palomo was already leaning in again, tilting his head closer. "Shhh…I wanna hear the rest."

Wash made it to the first "Duck Tales, awooo!" before he started to run out of gas. Big B was still in the corner shaking his head. _"You know that's not_ _ **my**_ _show's theme song, right_?" Wash tried to clear his head in order to reply. _Yeah….well…birds…._ He realized he was going to sleep again, willing or not, and was just drifting off when Dr. Grey arrived to push the lieutenants out.

"I said a few minutes, Agent Washington needs rest!"

"But Dr. Grey he's singing the Duck Tales theme song—"

"Oooh, I love that song!"

It took several minutes for Dr. Grey to convince them that Wash would eventually be back to his old self, and by that time Kimball was summoning them on their radios.

The Reds and Blues had made contact and called for reinforcements. Their excitement was loud and carrying until Dr. Grey and several staff members ejected them for good.

On their way out, they were hailed by a soldier in yellow armor. "Hey! Did you guys say Reds and Blues? Any chance one of them is Dexter Grif?"

* * *

Grif was feeling pretty good as he strode toward the volcano. He had his real friends back. And also his sister, but that was okay too. They stopped the bad guys, Wash was going to be okay. Bitters was still a maverick. Time to spike some volleyballs.

Simmons hurried to catch up with him, which didn't take much. But both were feeling too good to point it out.

"Hey, uh, Grif, what do you mean about the volleyballs?"

"Oh, yeah, well, being alone so long kinda screwed me up. So bad that I missed everyone. I made volleyballs for each of you so we could still talk to each other." He was still moving to the top of the volcano, albeit much slower now. The steep incline made the trek difficult and he was starting to run out of breath.

Simmons stopped. "That's…kind of sweet. And really disturbing."

Grif stopped too. "Yeah, but it doesn't matter now! Those balls are going in the volcano! I don't need them anymore."

"I agree, but I can't help but notice one small problem with your plan."

"What's that?"

"Ummm, you don't have balls for the volcano."

"Wow Simmons, way to be a friend. I thought it was pretty ballsy coming back to help you guys. And what about standing up to Temple? That took serious balls!"

"No, I mean you don't have any volleyballs with you. To throw into the volcano. I've never seen them. Ever. Where are they?"

It took several moments of flat silence for Simmons' words to permeate Grif's good mood. Then reality hit.

"Oh no! I left them on Locus' ship! Nooo! They're gone!"

Grif would have gone into a dramatic kneeling pose if it hadn't meant getting back up again. The group down below next to the ship stopped what they were doing to stare at them. Grif shook a fist at the sky, his best friend at his side, his sister alive and his real non-volleyball friends down below.

"Why does nothing ever work out for me?!"

* * *

By the time Locus was done cleaning blood off the floor and console, Aranacia had guided them far away from the planet Chorus. Dr. Grey was right, that cleaner was excellent. It even removed the blood stains from the volleyballs. He was impressed as he returned each one to their previous condition and set them up in their previous places, for lack of a better place. Not that he was keeping them. The Church ball was more difficult to clean since he lacked proper air, but somehow that seemed appropriate. Locus slid the last one into place and surveyed his progress, idly noting that there wasn't an orange volleyball to represent Grif. Not that he needed one.

 _Orange…_

"Aranacia, search for news relating to the Reds and Blues, the phrase simulation soldiers or the planet Chorus."

The console began to blink as it worked. She was still unmuted, so she began to run through the results as they came up.

"Dylan Andrews of Interstellar Daily has reported a story about the Reds and Blues. They are cleared of any illegal action against the UNSC and were instrumental in bringing the real criminals to justice. In other news, peace talks between the planet Chorus and the UNSC are moving forward and expected to be resolved soon."

Locus nodded, pleased. "Good. Now search for news on colonization efforts, focus on stories about difficulty or distressed groups in particular." He shifted the Sarge ball slightly to improve its balance and switched Tucker with Donut to put him closer to the blue side.

"There are stories regarding rumors of a colony in distress on the far side of the galaxy. A large conglomerate is attempting to establish mining in the same area. Three hundred men, women, and children are being kidnapped and removed or otherwise terrorized to force them to leave. Their attempts to maintain their land through legal means are being blocked. The reporter covering the story has disappeared."

"Perfect. Set our course for that colony."

"Yes, sir."

"Thank you."

"Shall I mute again, sir?"

Locus hesitated. "No. Not right now."

"Understood, sir."

Locus shifted the Caboose volleyball, settling it further into its place for stability as his mind wandered. "Aranacia, what do you think of the name Locus Pocus?"

"I do not appreciate it, sir." Her tone was as close to annoyed as a ship's A.I. could possibly manage. Locus smiled.

"Show me our trajectory, we should get to the colony as quickly as possible."

"Showing trajectory. Shall we follow safety precautions this time, sir?"

"Yes. And stealth mode once we're there. We need to see what we're up against first."

"Affirmative, sir."

Locus checked his weapons and waited to arrive, noting that the volleyballs were staring at him again. Lopez in particular seemed to be annoyed for some reason, his volleyball tilted sideways with what could only be robot sass.

"Keep an eye on these guys when we get there, Lopez. You know what a trouble magnet they are."

Locus could easily imagine a _"Si, senor,"_ response in robotic Spanish, so he nodded curtly and leaned over the console to assess the ship's progress. Maybe one day he'd run into Grif again and return his volleyballs. Maybe. But for now, they were his responsibility. Maybe one day he'd see Dr. Grey and give her that psychoanalysis she wanted so badly.

But until then, he had a right thing to do.

Aranacia took them deeper into space.

* * *

 _ **In the last glimpse of Dr. Grey looking in on Wash in the finale episode, you can now imagine Locus standing next to her, invisible. ;) Plus Dylan's words at that moment about being changed and reborn and better for it fit perfectly for both Wash and Locus.  
**_

 _ **Most of you probably already know aranacia is Italian for orange.**_

 _ **Thanks for reading!** _


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